Simon doesn’t speak until lights-out.

He waits until the instructors finish their patrol and the generator noise settles into its usual hum.

Then, from across the cabin— “There were eighteen beds when we got here.”

His voice is quiet, steady. “There’s fourteen now.” You know he’s right.

The empty bunks haven’t been reassigned. The mattresses are gone by morning. Footlockers cleared out before breakfast.

“They say ‘early release’ every time,” he continues. “Family pulled them. Court order. Whatever sounds tidy.”

A small pause.

“No buses have come through.” That part sits wrong.

This place is miles from anywhere. You would’ve heard a vehicle on the gravel road. Everyone would have.

He looks over at you.

“I was on firewood detail last night. Saw them take Mills.” Not dragged. Not fighting.

Escorted.

“Two instructors. Straight past the mess hall.” Another pause. “There’s a section behind it that’s fenced off. Didn’t see it before.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“I heard a door. Metal. Underground, maybe.”

Silence fills the cabin for a moment. “They brought Doyle back this morning.”

You both noticed that. Doyle didn’t talk. Didn’t look confused. Just… quiet. Too quiet.

“They shaved his head. Said it was lice.” Simon studies your reaction. “There’s no lice outbreak.”

He shifts slightly on the bunk. “They’re not sending anyone home.”

His voice lowers. “They’re moving them somewhere else.”

A beat.

“And whatever’s down there… changes people.” He doesn’t sound panicked. Just certain.

“If they come in here tonight and call another name—” He meets your eyes fully now. “Don’t trust it.”

A small pause. “And don’t open your eyes.”